Centennial Drive in Spring Branch looks unremarkable, but the kids who grew up there in the '60s have gone on to great success.

Centennial Drive in Spring Branch looks unremarkable, but the kids who grew up there in the '60s have gone on to great success.

Photo: Michael Paulsen

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A photograph of a group of adults who grew up on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, and became successful adults gather for a group photo at their childhood school Woodview Elementary, Friday, Aug. 31, 2012, in Houston. ( Michael Paulsen / Houston Chronicle )

A photograph of a group of adults who grew up on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, and became successful adults gather for a group photo at their childhood school Woodview

A group of adults who grew up on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, and became successful adults attended Woodview Elementary school, Friday, Aug. 31, 2012, in Houston. ( Michael

A group of adults who grew up on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, and became successful adults attended Woodview Elementary school, Friday, Aug. 31, 2012, in Houston. ( Michael

A photograph of a group of adults who grew up on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, and became successful adults gather for a group photo at their childhood school Woodview Elementary, Friday, Aug. 31, 2012, in Houston. ( Michael Paulsen / Houston Chronicle )

A photograph of a group of adults who grew up on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, and became successful adults gather for a group photo at their childhood school Woodview

Wayne Lee, left, and his son John Lee, work in the yard on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, which produced in the '60s a bumper crop of successful adults, from doctors to educators, Friday, Aug. 31, 2012, in Houston. ( Michael Paulsen / Houston Chronicle )

Wayne Lee, left, and his son John Lee, work in the yard on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, which produced in the '60s a bumper crop of successful adults, from doctors to

Wayne Lee, left, and his son John Lee, work in the yard on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, which produced in the '60s a bumper crop of successful adults, from doctors to educators, Friday, Aug. 31, 2012, in Houston. ( Michael Paulsen / Houston Chronicle )

Wayne Lee, left, and his son John Lee, work in the yard on Centennial Dr., a tiny unprepossessing street in Spring Branch, which produced in the '60s a bumper crop of successful adults, from doctors to

It's just a little street of low-slung houses with broad front lawns. The trees are magnificent now, but they probably weren't 50 years ago, when Michael Johns­ton and his friends were growing up here. While it's nice, the word "remarkable" wouldn't spring to mind.

But it should.

Back then, the kids who roamed this neighborhood, riding bikes and playing touch football and driveway basketball, probably seemed pretty average. But they weren't.

This little one-block street, Centennial Drive in Spring Branch, produced, in that one batch of kids, a lawyer, an IRS official, a psychologist, two engineers, two educators, a human resources director, a nurse, a dentist, a doctor and an HIV scientist. (There was also a Miss USA, but she lived around the corner.) Every one of those kids is, by the measure of society, a success.

There are two reasons for this: the street and the public school, Woodview Elementary.

Johnston, of the Johns­ton Legal Group in Fort Worth and five other locations, is a big fan of Woodview. I met him there, outside the office with a gaggle of small children playing some version of tag around us.

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"Public school education is critical," he says, "because when I'm 90, one of these kids is going to be my doctor."

Wrong side of tracks

Michele Bright was the girl who ran with the boys. Back then, she remembers, their subdivision stood in the middle of farms and fields.

Back when Interstate 10 was a train track, their houses were literally on the wrong side of the tracks. But the schools were highly rated.

On long summer days, Bright says, they all ran around barefoot, a permanent layer of tar coating their feet. On special occasions, they might go for a burger at Prince's in Houston - or even Galveston.

Gary Flores grew up next door, his bedroom window overlooking the neighbors' driveway. Bright's father left for work early every morning, and he would push his truck down the driveway so as not to wake Flores.

Birthday parties, anniversaries - all were neighborhood affairs. And every parent in the neighborhood felt free to call out any kid who was misbehaving, too.

The kids weren't stamped out by a cookie cutter. Some were Czech-American, others Mexican-American. One wore a leg brace from polio. Another was legally blind.

"But we didn't consider ourselves disadvantaged or disabled in any way," Johnston says.

Beatles on the bus

From first through 12th grade, they rode the same school bus with the same driver, Squeaky Thornton, who let them sing Beatles songs, says Johnston.

"All our families had a work ethic and had grown up in one of the hardest times our country has known," says Bright, whose parents came up during the Depression. They went to church on Sundays. (Four Catholic families lived across from four Baptist families.) Their mothers sewed their clothes. "We all had a tremendous amount of pride in our country and our families," she says.

The parents expected the kids to go to college, because they hadn't had the chance themselves.

Now Flores is chief of anesthesia at Methodist Sugar Land Hospital. Bright, granddaughter of a German blacksmith, has a dental practice in Brenham, is working on two master's degrees, flies planes and performs in air shows. Oh, and she cans her own vegetables.

"I was through med school before I realized not everyone had parents like I did," says Flores. His dad, 83, still lives on Centennial and rides his bike six miles a day.

"I guess we were just very fortunate," Flores says. "We had to rely on each other."